[夜与日].(night.and.day).(英)弗吉尼亚·伍尔芙.文字版-第94章

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imagined。　She　was　a　practical　woman；　a　domestic　wife　
for　an　inferior　poet；　endowed　with　romantic　beauty　by　
some　freak　of　unintelligent　Nature。　No　doubt　her　beauty　
itself　would　not　stand　examination。　He　had　the　means　of　
settling　this　point　at　least。　He　possessed　a　book　of　photographs　
from　the　Greek　statues；　the　head　of　a　goddess；　
if　the　lower　part　were　concealed；　had　often　given　him　
the　ecstasy　of　being　in　Katharine’s　presence。　He　took　it　
down　from　the　shelf　and　found　the　picture。　To　this　he　
added　a　note　from　her；　bidding　him　meet　her　at　the　Zoo。　
He　had　a　flower　which　he　had　picked　at　Kew　to　teach　her　

botany。　Such　were　his　relics。　He　placed　them　before　him；　
and　set　himself　to　visualize　her　so　clearly　that　no　deception　
or　delusion　was　possible。　In　a　second　he　could　see　
her；　with　the　sun　slanting　across　her　dress；　ing　towards　
him　down　the　green　walk　at　Kew。　He　made　her　sit　
upon　the　seat　beside　him。　He　heard　her　voice；　so　low　and　
yet　so　decided　in　its　tone；　she　spoke　reasonably　of　indifferent　
matters。　He　could　see　her　faults；　and　analyze　her　
virtues。　His　pulse　became　quieter；　and　his　brain　increased　
in　clarity。　This　time　she　could　not　escape　him。　The　illusion　
of　her　presence　became　more　and　more　plete。　
They　seemed　to　pass　in　and　out　of　each　other’s　minds；　
questioning　and　answering。　The　utmost　fullness　of　munion　
seemed　to　be　theirs。　Thus　united；　he　felt　himself　
raised　to　an　eminence；　exalted；　and　filled　with　a　power　of　
achievement　such　as　he　had　never　known　in　singleness。　
Once　more　he　told　over　conscientiously　her　faults；　both　
of　face　and　character；　they　were　clearly　known　to　him；　
but　they　merged　themselves　in　the　flawless　union　that　
was　born　of　their　association。　They　surveyed　life　to　its　
uttermost　limits。　How　deep　it　was　when　looked　at　from　

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Night　and　Day　

this　height！　How　sublime！　How　the　monest　things　
moved　him　almost　to　tears！　Thus；　he　forgot　the　inevitable　
limitations；　he　forgot　her　absence；　he　thought　it　of　
no　account　whether　she　married　him　or　another；　nothing　
mattered；　save　that　she　should　exist；　and　that　he　should　
love　her。　Some　words　of　these　reflections　were　uttered　
aloud；　and　it　happened　that　among　them　were　the　words；　
“I　love　her。”　It　was　the　first　time　that　he　had　used　the　
word　“love”　to　describe　his　feeling；　madness；　romance；　
hallucination—he　had　called　it　by　these　names　before；　
but　having；　apparently　by　accident；　stumbled　upon　the　
word　“love；”　he　repeated　it　again　and　again　with　a　sense　
of　revelation。　

“But　I’m　in　love　with　you！”　he　exclaimed；　with　something　
like　dismay。　He　leant　against　the　windowsill；　looking　
over　the　city　as　she　had　looked。　Everything　had　bee　
miraculously　different　and　pletely　distinct。　His　
feelings　were　justified　and　needed　no　further　explanation。　
But　he　must　impart　them　to　some　one；　because　his　
discovery　was　so　important　that　it　concerned　other　people　
too。　Shutting　the　book　of　Greek　photographs；　and　hiding　

his　relics；　he　ran　downstairs；　snatched　his　coat；　and　passed　
out　of　doors。　

The　lamps　were　being　lit；　but　the　streets　were　dark　
enough　and　empty　enough　to　let　him　walk　his　fastest；　
and　to　talk　aloud　as　he　walked。　He　had　no　doubt　where　
he　was　going。　He　was　going　to　find　Mary　Datchet。　The　
desire　to　share　what　he　felt；　with　some　one　who　understood　
it；　was　so　imperious　that　he　did　not　question　it。　He　
was　soon　in　her　street。　He　ran　up　the　stairs　leading　to　her　
flat　two　steps　at　a　time；　and　it　never　crossed　his　mind　
that　she　might　not　be　at　home。　As　he　rang　her　bell；　he　
seemed　to　himself　to　be　announcing　the　presence　of　something　
wonderful　that　was　separate　from　himself；　and　gave　
him　power　and　authority　over　all　other　people。　Mary　came　
to　the　door　after　a　moment’s　pause。　He　was　perfectly　
silent；　and　in　the　dusk　his　face　looked　pletely　white。　
He　followed　her　into　her　room。　

“Do　you　know　each　other？”　she　said；　to　his　extreme　
surprise；　for　he　had　counted　on　finding　her　alone。　A　young　
man　rose；　and　said　that　he　knew　Ralph　by　sight。　

“We　were　just　going　through　some　papers；”　said　Mary。　

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Virginia　Woolf　

“Mr。　Bast　has　to　help　me；　because　I　don’t　know　much　
about　my　work　yet。　It’s　the　new　society；”　she　explained。　
“I’m　the　secretary。　I’m　no　longer　at　Russell　Square。”　

The　voice　in　which　she　gave　this　information　was　so　
constrained　as　to　sound　almost　harsh。　

“What　are　your　aims？”　said　Ralph。　He　looked　neither　at　
Mary　nor　at　Mr。　Bast。　Mr。　Bast　thought　he　had　seldom　
seen　a　more　disagreeable　or　formidable　man　than　
this　friend　of　Mary’s；　this　sarcasticlooking；　whitefaced　
Mr。　Denham；　who　seemed　to　demand；　as　if　by　right；　an　
account　of　their　proposals；　and　to　criticize　them　before　
he　had　heard　them。　Nevertheless；　he　explained　his　projects　
as　clearly　as　he　could；　and　knew　that　he　wished　Mr。　Denham　
to　think　well　of　them。　

“I　see；”　said　Ralph；　when　he　had　done。　“D’you　know；　
Mary；”　he　suddenly　remarked；　“I　believe　I’m　in　for　a　cold。　
Have　you　any　quinine？”　The　look　which　he　cast　at　her　
frightened　her；　it　expressed　mutely；　perhaps　without　his　
own　consciousness；　something　deep；　wild；　and　passionate。　
She　left　the　room　at　once。　Her　heart　beat　fast　at　the　
knowledge　of　Ralph’s　presence；　but　it　beat　with　pain；　

and　with　an　extraordinary　fear。　She　stood　listening　for　a　
moment　to　the　voices　in　the　next　room。　

“Of　course；　I　agree　with　you；”　she　heard　Ralph　say；　in　
this　strange　voice；　to　Mr。　Bast。　“But　there’s　more　that　
might　be　done。　Have　you　seen　Judson；　for　instance？　You　
should　make　a　point　of　getting　him。”　

Mary　returned　with　the　quinine。　

“Judson’s　address？”　Mr。　Bast　inquired；　pulling　out　
his　notebook　and　preparing　to　write。　For　twenty　minutes；　
perhaps；　he　wrote　down　names；　addresses；　and　other　suggestions　
that　Ralph　dictated　to　him。　Then；　when　Ralph　
fell　silent；　Mr。　Bast　felt　that　his　presence　was　not　
desired；　and　thanking　Ralph　for　his　help；　with　a　sense　
that　he　was　very　young　and　ignorant　pared　with　him；　
he　said　goodbye。　

“Mary；”　said　Ralph；　directly　Mr。　Bast　had　shut　the　
door　and　they　were　alone　together。　“Mary；”　he　repeated。　
But　the　old　difficulty　of　speaking　to　Mary　without　reserve　
prevented　him　from　continuing。　His　desire　to　proclaim　
his　love　for　Katharine　was　still　strong　in　him；　but　he　had　
felt；　directly　he　saw　Mary；　that　he　could　not　share　it　with　

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Night　and　Day　

her。　The　feeling　increased　as　he　sat　talking　to　Mr。　Bast。　
And　yet　all　the　time　he　was　thinking　of　Katharine；　and　
marveling　at　his　love。　The　tone　in　which　he　spoke　Mary’s　
name　was　harsh。　

“What　is　it；　Ralph？”　she　asked；　startled　by　his　tone。　She　
looked　at　him　anxiously；　and　her　little　frown　showed　that　
she　was　trying　painfully　to　understand　him；　and　was　
puzzled。　He　could　feel　her　groping　for　his　meaning；　and　
he　was　annoyed　with　her；　and　thought　how　he　had　always　
found　her　slow；　painstaking；　and　clumsy。　He　had　
behaved　badly　to　her；　too；　which　made　his　irritation　the　
more　acute。　Without　waiting　for　him　to　answer；　she　rose　
as　if　his　answer　were　indifferent　to　her；　and　began　to　put　
in　order　some　papers　that　Mr。　Bast　had　left　on　the　
table。　She　hummed　a　scrap　of　a　tune　under　her　breath；　
and　moved　about　the　room　as　if　she　were　occupied　in　
making　things　tidy；　and　had　no　other　concern。　

“You’ll　stay　and　dine？”　she　said　casually；　returning　to　
her　seat。　

“No；”　Ralph　replied。　She　did　not　press　him　further。　They　
sat　side　by　side　without　speaking；　and　Mary　reached　her　

hand　for　her　work　basket；　and　took　out　her　sewing　and　
threaded　a　needle。　

“That’s　a　clever　young　man；”　Ralph　observed；　referring　
to　Mr。　Bast。　

“I’m　glad　you　thought　so。　It’s　tremendously　interesting　
work；　and　considering　everything；　I　think　we’ve　done　very　
well。　But　I’m　inclined　to　agree　with　you；　we　ought　to　try　
to　be　more　conciliatory。　We’re　absurdly　strict。　It’s　difficult　
to　see　that　there　may　be　sense　in　what　one’s　opponents　
say；　though　they　are　one’s　opponents。　Horace　
Bast　is　certainly　too　unpromising。　I　mustn’t　forget　
to　see　that　he　writes　that　letter　to　Judson。　You’re　too　
b